FT MEADE 
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


Chap._P_Z3 Copyright No.. 

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Shelf. j4_. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 










MEMORIES OF THE MANSE 


















































































































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AMONG THE H1I.LS 




S>:* ~ 

■. 







Memories of the Manse 


(©Itmpscs of &cotttsj} ILife anti Character 


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ANNE BREADALBANE c j Wt 3 


ILLUSTRATED 



' M a-tL^-to 

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Copyright , 1895 ,3 


By Joseph Knight Company. 


2Entocvsttg Press: 

John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S. A. 


of Connecticut, U. S. A., these simple records 

OF A QUIET CORNER OF MY FATHERLAND 
ARE INSCRIBED WITH GRATEFUL LOVE. 










CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

CHAPTER I. 

Glenarran 9 

CHAPTER II. 

The Minister 21 

CHAPTER III. 

The “Sabbath.” 32 

CHAPTER IV. 

The “Sabbath.” — Continued. 50 

CHAPTER V. 

The “ Sabbath.” — Continued. 59 

CHAPTER VI. 

Week Days 69 

CHAPTER VII. 

Week Days. — Continued. 79 

CHAPTER VIII. 

“ The Sacrament.” 92 

CHAPTER IX. 

The Minister’s Eldest Son 104 













MEMORIES OF THE MANSE. 


CHAPTER I. 

GLENARRAN. 

Let me recall thee, beautiful Glenar- 
ran, as last I saw thee : nestling in thy 
quiet bay ; hills on right and left stretch- 
ing far out to sea; thine islands, not un- 
known in story, lying blue and misty in 
the distance. To the north, the river 
Arran mingled with the ocean. Beyond 
it lay Arran Castle, a modern structure, 
but looking hoary in the distance. On 
the south, the hills near the town were 
carefully cultivated. Oats grew on slopes 
that were almost perpendicular, and po- 
tatoes flourished on heights that to any 
one but a highlander would have been 


10 


Memories of the Manse . 


inaccessible. Even where cultivation 
ceased, every spot of ground was still 
utilized. The stunted but hardy grass of 
the vicinity supported a breed of sheep 
equally hardy and stunted. This pasture 
land was broken up by chasms, bot- 
tomless but for the sea, that, far down, 
was heard surging hoarsely ; and as the 
chasms were numerous, and the sheep 
possessed of supernatural agility, the of- 
fice of the stalwart shepherd of Raeburn 
Head was no sinecure. Beneath the 
hills, opening from the spacious beach, 
were wonderful caves, each with its spe- 
cial legend, often embodied in the name, 
as “ Samson’s Banes ” or the “ Deil’s Kail 
Pat and among the caves was the “ Mer- 
maid’s Tryst,” where a stream of pure 
fresh water, trickling among the rocks, 
had hollowed out for itself a circular 
basin. There, according to local tradi- 
tion, Lady Georgiana Clyde of the Castle 
had seen a mermaid combing her hair ; 












































































































































































































































































































































Glenarran. 


ii 


and there, accordingly, the children of 
Glenarran were wont on summer even- 
ings to carry sundry bits of oat-cake or 
barley scone, returning in the morning to 
see how much the mermaid had eaten. 
As the tide during the night covered 
rocks and Tryst, it will be seen how the 
mermaid, though a most romantic creat- 
ure in herself, was regarded as possess- 
ing a most unromantic appetite. Above 
the cliffs was an ivy-covered ruin ; and 
here and there the hills were dotted with 
a white farm-house or a shepherd’s sheil- 
ing. 

Glenarran was, twenty years ago, but 
a small fishing town. The old part of 
it, lying close to the river, was almost ex- 
clusively occupied by the fishermen and 
their families ; and, with its high, quaint, 
stone houses overshadowing the narrow 
streets, its groups of brawling women, its 
children prematurely old, and its general 
air of poverty and squalor, might, but 


12 


Memories of the Manse. 


for the sails and nets and debris of fish 
everywhere visible, have passed for a frag- 
ment of the old town of Edinburgh. The 
business streets were a connecting link 
between the old town and the new. In 
the latter were the handsome freestone 
residences of the professional men and 
richer shopkeepers. Here, too, were all 
the churches — Established, Free, Baptist, 
Congregationalist Christ’s work was 
not as well understood in Glenarran then 
as it has been since. The Church did not 
venture into the Fisher-Biggins for disci- 
ples ; even a minister rarely went there, 
except when summoned to a death-bed ; 
and it is needless to say that few from the 
Fisher-Biggins cared, for any church’s 
sake, to parade their patches and rags in 
the fashionable quarter. The gala event 
of the old town was a funeral. That 
seemed their revenge on those whom they 
envied and hated as the “ gentles,” — for 
the only churchyard of Glenarran, though 


Glenarran. 


13 


a quiet enough spot, was so situated that 
even those who in life would have shunned 
the Fisher-Biggins most, were carried to 
their last resting-place through the very 
midst of its wretchedness. So that every 
funeral procession, however it might be 
headed, was sure to be brought up by a 
crowd of idlers, who, not gaining admit- 
tance into the inclosure, peered through 
the gate or clustered on the ruined wall ; 
and, though the awe that in Scotland in- 
vests everything connected with death 
generally kept them silent while the inter- 
ment was going on, it was seldom that the 
mourners were allowed to escape without 
a low jibe or threat, as, “ Eh, man ! ye’ll 
be a bonny corp yersel yet ; ” or, “ Auld 
Luckie ’ll mak braw wark wi’ yer deid 
bairn the nicht ! ” 

We have mentioned several churches. 
That with which we have to do had been 
originally connected with a body — the 
majority of whom had, some years before 


H 


Memories of the Manse. 


our records begin, united with the Free 
Church. The small minority in Glenar- 
ran who had refused to accede to this 
change were loud in abusing those who 
did. Not satisfied with the temporal 
measures undertaken to recover the church 
property, they denounced their lately- 
revered minister as a priest of Baal, and 
compared the first sacramental occasion 
after the union to Belshazzar’s impious 
feast. In return, the minister laughed 
quietly, and the more ambitious of the 
congregation planned a new edifice that 
should not only take the place of the old 
when fate should dispossess them of it, 
but that should eclipse the other Free 
church. Meantime, fate and the architect 
were alike slow. The plans had as yet 
no place on anything so substantial as 
paper even, and matters went on in the 
old church and manse as quietly as though 
no change had ever been contemplated. 

These buildings, although nominally 


Glenarran. 


15 


belonging to the new town, were, locally, 
as closely connected with the old. They 
were situated on the extreme north of 
the town, as near the sea as it was safe 
for any building to be. A short walk 
eastward led to the aristocratic quarter ; 
an equally short and far pleasanter walk 
on the beach led northward to the Fisher- 
Biggins The church and manse were of 
moderate size and joined each other at 
right angles. Their material was rough 
stone, plastered with lime and gravel, 
and kept dazzlingly white. The quad- 
rangle partially inclosed by the buildings 
was divided into three inclosures, known 
respectively as the hen-yard, the inner 
garden, and the outer garden. From the 
first of these the congregation had been 
in the habit of turning an honest penny 
by letting it to a widow who kept cows ; 
and its present possession by the minister 
was justly regarded by Jean, the old ser- 
vant, as a triumph of her diplomacy. 


Memories of the Manse. 


16 


The minister’s hobby — and a very excus- 
able one, considering his narrow income 
— was vegetables ; Jean’s weakness was 
hens. But the hens and vegetables not 
agreeing, the minister had declared that 
Jean’s pets must go. Jean, however, was 
a woman of resources. Capturing her 
favorites, she sewed on each a pair of 
cloth shoes, and then liberated them, 
with a defiant “ Scratch noo, wull ye ! ” 
But it was a short-lived defiance. The 
hens were hens of spirit, and had made 
up their minds to scratch or die ; and, as 
scratching had been rendered impossible 
for them, die they did. Then Jean, going 
about among the neighbors, raised such a 
hue and cry about the minister having 
never a fresh egg for breakfast, that the 
widow’s cows were quietly turned out 
and the key of the inclosure handed over 
to the minister. The inner garden was 
devoted indiscriminately to grass, vege- 
tables and beds of old-fashioned flowers, 




























































SKA AND SHORK 






Clenarran. 


*7 

with narrow gravel walks between. Bees 
hummed through all the long summer 
days among the wall-flowers and pinks 
and daisies and columbines, and many an 
old woman gathered there her Sunday 
sprig of southern-wood or Balm-of-Gilead. 
The outer garden was only a grassy 
slope, bordered with the inevitable pota- 
toes, and having in the far-off corner a 
summer-seat. The garden wall, low 
within, was on the outside eighteen feet 
high ; for it was so near the sea that 
when the great storm-tides came even 
the flowers in the inner garden were cov- 
ered with flakes of foam. 

The manse was divided into small, 
irregularly-shaped rooms — the oddest the 
study, which was like a zigzag passage of 
no particular shape. Its walls were lined 
with books, whose exterior was generally 
as uninviting to the eye as was their 
theology to the natural man ; and here 
and there among the book-shelves were 


i8 


Memories of the Manse. 


set wooden medallions, bearing, in 
tarnished gold, texts of Scripture — most 
of them of a denunciatory character — for 
in those days the terrors of the Law were 
wielded far more frequently than the at- 
tractions of the Gospel. The lower hall 
and first flight of stairs were of stone, 
blackened and polished. Above and 
below, the rooms were few and small, and 
plainly, some of them even poorly, fur- 
nished ; and the attics enjoyed the repu- 
tation of being haunted. 

As for the church — one glance at it, 
without or within, would have been the 
death of Ruskin. Gothic had evidently 
been Greek to its architect. The building 
itself was large and square, the windows 
and doors small and square ; the main 
passage ran the wrong way, and a ma- 
hogany-colored gallery was supported on 
blue pillars. The pulpit, with its sound- 
ing-board, reached nearly to the ceiling. 
Under it was the precentor’s box. And 


Glenarran . 


19 


still lower, yet much elevated above the 
body of the church, was a railed inclosure 
for the elders. Opposite the pulpit, the 
‘'table-seats,” used for sacramental occa- 
sions, ran the whole length, or rather 
breadth, of the church. Raised pews, 
with hangings of divers colors, were dis- 
tributed here and there. At first, there 
had been but one of these — that appropri- 
ated to the minister’s family. But, in 
process of time, an aristocratic lawyer, the 
great man of the congregation, had had 
his pew elevated and his dignity brought 
into bold relief by a fiery background. 
Then a well-to-do grocer, who had risen 
from small beginnings and was propor- 
tionately ambitious, had imitated the 
lawyer ; and the carpenter, having his 
hand in, had imitated the grocer. Lastly, 
“wee Johnnie” the dwarf, who was 
gardener-in-general to Glenarran, had had 
his pew in the back part of the gallery 
raised and hung ; and there he sat, Sun- 


20 


Memories of the Manse. 


day after Sunday, his great head the only 
part visible, looking like a huge gargoyle. 
The congregation had laughed in their 
sleeve at the grocer, and had openly ex- 
pressed their indignation at the carpen- 
ter;. but about the dwarf every one felt 
that there was nothing to be said — only, 
after that, no more pews were hung. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE MINISTER. 

The father of the Reverend Donald 
Douglas was a small farmer in the south 
of Scotland. Though tilling with his 
own hands the few acres that he rented, 
and having a constant struggle to make 
both ends meet, he had managed to give 
his three sons such advantages that each 
had risen far above his original position 
in life. John, the eldest, was an at- 
torney in Edinburgh ; Colin, a prosperous 
business man in Australia ; and Donald, 
the cleverest and most thoroughly edu- 
cated of the three, minister of Glenarran. 
As far as pecuniary circumstances were 
concerned, the last could scarcely be said 
to have mended his fortune. The humble 
abode of his father had not been more 
intimately acquainted with poverty than 


22 


Memories of the Manse . 


the Manse was ; and the thatched 
cottage, consisting of only a “but” and 
a “ben,” had not been under the painful 
necessity of keeping up a genteel appear- 
ance. 

Yet the minister doubtless had his 
compensation. I saw it stated once, in 
some American newspaper, that the 
Scottish clergy generally are not highly 
regarded by their people. And in a sub- 
sequent number of the same journal I 
saw this statement indignantly contra- 
dicted, and the assertion made that Scot- 
land is the most “ priest-ridden ” country 
under the sun ! 

Now, to me, the relation between 
Scottish ministers and their flocks seems 
particularly happy. The former, un- 
doubtedly, possess great influence, but 
would be the first to deprecate the ex- 
tension of that influence beyond its 
proper sphere. And the latter, con- 
scientiously believing that the province 


The Mmister. 


23 


of the minister is to rebuke as well as to 
exhort, to counsel as well as to comfort, 
do not easily take umbrage. Changes 
in the pastoral relation are thus com- 
paratively rare. A faithful minister is 
looked upon as a gift from the Lord, 
and a congregation does not expect for 
the magnificent sum of a hundred and 
fifty pounds a year to receive an angel 
from heaven. 

Mr. Douglas, at the time our records 
begin, was about fifty years of age. His 
portly figure was about the medium 
height. His head was entirely bald on the 
top ; but the hair, where it remained, was 
black, crisp and curly — though in the 
closely trimmed side whiskers it was quite 
gray. The features, though large, were 
clearly cut, forming a fine profile. The 
lower jaw was square, the mouth firm ; 
the keen, gray eyes could be by turns 
threatening and tender. The complexion 
was fresh and ruddy. Altogether, it was 


24 


Memories of the Manse. 


a face one could not carelessly pass. The 
minister’s appearance of bodily vigor was 
hardly lessened by a very marked lame- 
ness, the result of an injury in childhood. 
Indeed, so thoroughly was the “halt” of 
Mr. Douglas a part of himself, that those 
who knew him never thought of it as a 
defect, while to the children it was a part 
of their father’s greatness and glory. So 
that, when they “ played church,” they 
generally chose for minister not the best 
preacher, but the one who, in walking 
along the imaginary aisle and climbing 
into the improvised pulpit, could most 
exactly imitate the minister’s gait. The 
matter was settled by the little girls thus : 
“ Kenneth can pray best, but Don can 
halt best ; so Don can be minister, and 
call on Kenneth to pray.” 

Mr. Douglas was a man whose nature 
it was to rule all that came within his in- 
fluence. That he governed more by fear 
than love, was due partially to the place 


The Minister . 


25 


and time in which he lived. A stern 
father and a stern pastor, with his chil- 
dren and congregation he had but one 
rule : perfect obedience, or punishment. 
For the refractory child who had neglect- 
ed his weekly portion of catechism, there 
was the rod, or rather the tawes ; for the 
older offender there was church discipline. 
In both cases vengeance was equally cer- 
tain and swift. Forgiveness, indeed, 
would be eventually given, and most 
graciously, but not till the last drop of 
the punishment had been wrung out. 
And not the least part of the minister’s 
triumph was the fact that, no matter what 
feelings of rebellion and hatred had been 
nourished toward him during punishment, 
the conversation that followed was sure 
not only to soften the offender, but to 
confirm him more fully in his allegiance. 

If sincerity were the test of right, no 
one could have questioned the wisdom of 
the minister’s course. A doubt never en- 


2 6 


Memories of the Manse. 


tered his mind. Subtle distinctions be- 
tween what was right and what was ex- 
pedient were to him idle sophistry. No 
pope ever spoke with more authority ; 
no priest of the house of Aaron ever 
more fully identified his own will and the 
will of God. And though regulating the 
minutest details of domestic economy, he 
never seemed to lower himself, but to 
elevate the details. His power owed 
nothing to externals,- the shabby clothes 
and rusty black stock that he wore in the 
house taking nothing from the weight of 
his reproof, as the jet-black Sunday suit 
and white neckcloth added nothing to it. 
And, more highly favored than any pope, 
his utterances to those concerned were 
always ex cathedra , whether expounding 
some abstruse doctrinal point or settling 
the cat’s allowance of porridge. “ Eh, 
man ! ” said one poor soul who had been 
before the kirk session and had the worst 
of it, “what a Bonyparty he wad hae 


The Minister. 


2; 


made!” “The auld fule body!” said 
Jean, indignantly, on hearing the intend- 
ed compliment, “ gin he could na liken 
him to Cameron or ane o’ the Lords ane, 
could he no hae thocht o’ the Juke 
(Duke) ? I’d hae him afore the session 
again for misca’in’ the minister ! ” 

It may be thought that under so strict 
a rule no children could be happy, and 
that in the Manse floggings must have 
been the order of the day. But Mr. 
Douglas was as exact in explaining his 
requirements as in punishing breaches of 
them ; and obedience, though difficult, 
was by no means impossible. Moreover, 
when matters went smoothly, Mr. Doug- 
las was the most genial of men, and his 
best manners were for his own fireside. 
The thousand anxieties his poverty en- 
tailed on him, the children never knew. 
The old clothes were worn without a 
murmur ; the breakfast of porridge and 
milk, or dinner of barley broth and oat- 


28 


Memories of the Manse. 


cake, had a seasoning of thankfulness, 
and cheerfulness, and pleasant talk, that 
many a stalled ox would be the better 
for. The minister loved bright faces 
about him. Let a child wear a sad coun- 
tenance without sufficient cause, and, 
though he could not justly have the cere- 
monious whipping, he was sure of an in- 
formal pinch or fillip. So that it was 
only when the children's consciences were 
not quite clear that they avoided Mr. 
Douglas. A twilight walk with papa, on 
the sands, when they learned a thousand 
things without knowing they were learn- 
ing one, was one of their greatest pleas- 
ures ; and a summer day on the heather 
with him was a delight to which they 
looked forward all the year. 

A doleful Christian was to Mr. Doug- 
las very little better than a child in the 
sulks, and fared in much the same way. 
At prayer-meeting, one night, after a run- 
ning commentary on the 95th Psalm, he 


The Minister. 


29 


called on a person whose petitions were 
generally couched in whispers, to pray, 
saying, “ Peter Skinner will pray ; and, 
Peter, try and make a joyful noise!' On 
another occasion, an old member, whose 
prayers were largely made up of groans, 
had scarcely said Amen, when the minis- 
ter remonstrated: “John! John! when 
you have ten minutes to pray in, and 
groan seven of them, you’re just cheating 
God.” John rather resented the reproof, 
and, waiting for the minister at the church 
door, said : “ When the Maister himsel’ 
was at the grave o’ Lazarus, he groaned 
in speerit.” 

“ Ay,” said Mr. Douglas, falling into 
John’s Scotch, “so he did. But gin ye 
canna be like the Maister in ony ither 
gait, ye’ll jist never be like Him at a’ ; 
for ye gurgle i’ the throat like a stick- 
it calf. Forbye, John, whaur’s yer 
Lazarus ? ” 

A twinkle appeared in John’s honest 


30 


Memories of the Manse. 


blue eyes, and he accepted heartily the 
proffered pinch of snuff. 

If the minister of our memory is a lit- 
tle softer, a little kindlier than the minis- 
ter of our real life, one figure at least, in 
the Manse, owes nothing to time — the 
tenderly remembered, the passionately 
beloved ministers wife. 

When by our own volition we recall 
those whom we loved long ago, we can 
blend with them what associations we 
will ; but when, without effort of ours, 
they come before us, one particular as- 
sociation comes with them as a part of 
themselves. Ask me of Mrs. Douglas 
and I remember, as in a dream, the tall, 
slender figure that moved about the 
Manse, doing the countless things that 
devolved on the mother of six children, 
with no servant but Jean ; the blue, un- 
clouded eyes ; the auburn hair, that had 
lost its gleam of gold and gained some 
threads of silver ; the placid face, where 


The Minister . 


3 


many a care was legibly impressed, and 
the peace of God yet more legibly. I 
read her retiring nature, shrinking from 
contact with fashionable life, yet receiv- 
ing with modest grace the advances of 
those who cared to honor her husband 
and herself. I look into her gentle 
heart, governing solely by love herself, 
yet, like a true wife, believing with un- 
questioning faith in all her husband 
did. 

All this I can recall. But the minister’s 
wife, who, without need of recalling, is 
ever before my eyes and heart, is just a 
shadowy figure, sitting in the wondrous 
twilight of a Scottish evening, singing 
Scottish Psalms. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE “ SABBATH.” 

In the Manse, both summer and winter, 
early rising was the order of the day : 
and Sunday, you may be sure, was no ex- 
ception. “ If six days are not enough for 
our own service,” said Mr. Douglas, “one 
is all too little for God’s.” So the house- 
hold was early astir ; the minister spend- 
ing an early hour over his sermon, and the 
children supposed to be doing the same 
for their catechism. 

At eight the family assembled in the 
dining-room, which was also the sitting- 
room of the Manse. A small room it was 
for so many, and undeniable shabby ; the 
carpet patched and darned, the furniture 
a good deal battered. Even a large 
bookcase, containing books with more 
tempting exteriors than those in the study, 


The “ Sabbath .” 


33 


showed marks of no very gentle usage. 
Thereby hung tales of winter nights’ rev- 
elry, which Don, who had played no in- 
glorious part therein, could recount, with 
sparkling eye ; looking a little sheepish, 
however, when the little girls took up 
the story where he would modestly have 
dropped it, and told of the retribution 
that followed, — showing, in connection 
therewith, the tawes that hung in the cor- 
ner. Over the tawes were the children’s 
book-shelves, containing a goodly array 
of excellent volumes , — Chambers Miscel- 
lany being the prime favorite. Books do 
a great deal for a room ; but, notwith- 
standing the literary appearance of the 
Manse dining-room, it required all the 
brightening that summer sunshine or win- 
ter firelight could give it. 

On Sunday morning, however, it looked 
its best. Other breakfasts could only 
boast those well-known blue plates whose 
pagodas, fond lovers, cruel parent, and 

3 


34 


Memories of the Manse. 


pair of doves, illustrate a touching le- 
gend (a whole world of love and pathos 
in a porridge-plate !), and porringers of 
every size and hue. But the table, on 
Sunday morning, had the snowiest of 
linen and the second-best set of china, 
white with delicate lavender flowers ; and 
the children luxuriated in boiled milk 
slightly tinged with coffee — Christian, 
who studied French, always spoke of it 
as cafe au lait , — wheaten rolls and butter, 
with boiled eggs or a smoked haddock. 

Breakfast being disposed of, the Bible 
was placed on the table, and Jean sum- 
moned to “ come ben to worship.” There 
was no “ waling a portion with judicious 
care.” The psalms were sung, and the 
Bible was read straight through, and 
everybody had to bear his part. No par- 
ticular order was regarded in the reading, 
but Mr. Douglas, always on the alert to 
catch some one napping, would call on 
the children as he pleased, and the por- 


The “ Sabbath .” 


35 


tion read might vary from one verse to a 
dozen. If the chapter consisted only of 
a list of names, or contained some pas- 
sage one might think more suitable for 
private reading, the minister would prob- 
ably remark that “all Scripture is given 
by inspiration of God, and is profitable.” 
In the reading, Jean was not called upon, 
but she joined in the singing with a will, 
and, taking the precaution to pitch her 
voice an octave higher than the others, 
added much to the general effect. Jean 
was a privileged individual, whose twenty 
years of faithful service were allowed to 
weigh against a good many peculiari- 
ties. Once, earlier in their acquaintance, 
the minister had called her into his 
study to remonstrate about the singing. 
“ Search your heart, Jean,” said he, “and 
see if this is not spiritual pride.” But 
Jean, astonished and indignant, had her 
answer ready : “ Gin the Lord had gi’en 
ye a tenor skirl yersel’, sir, wad ye nojist 


3 ^ 


Memories of the Manse. 


be fleein’ i’ the face o’ yer Maker to try 
an’ sing wi’ a bass grumph ? ” 

Worship being over, the dishes were 
not washed, but stowed away in a part of 
the kitchen called the nook, to be joined 
later by those used at dinner and supper ; 
the entire pile to be washed before break- 
fast on Monday morning by Jean and 
Davidina, the washerwoman. The minis- 
ter retired to his study again. The chil- 
dren arrayed themselves in their best. 
Gentle Mrs. Douglas was everywhere ; 
laying out her husband’s best clothes in 
the spare bedroom, where, except on re- 
markable occasions, they reposed all the 
week ; turning over the boys’ snowy col- 
lars, and trying to reduce to order Ken- 
neth’s mass of yellow hair ; deciding al- 
tercations between Christian and her 
charges, the little girls, in regard to sun- 
dry details of the gala attire of the latter ; 
and receiving two visitors who always 
dropped in before morning service. These 


The “ Sabbath 


37 


were Mr. Home, an elder — a tall, vener- 
able old man, with benign face and snow- 
white hair suggestive of a crown of glory ; 
and Miss Grizzell McTavish, an ancient 
maiden lady, one of the daughters of the 
predecessor of Mr. Douglas. 

If the Glenarran of our records strikes 
the reader as odd, that of Mr. McTavish’s 
day would seem simply impossible. Mr. 
McTavish had begun his ministrations 
there when the only other church in town 
was that belonging to the Establishment. 
A harsh-featured, harsh-voiced man, dis- 
daining the refinements of life either in 
speech or action, he seemed to feel him- 
self divinely commissioned to reprove the 
little world of Glenarran of sin, of right- 
eousness, and of judgment. In the broad- 
est Scotch he inveighed against the 
“ cauld morality ” of the Church of Scot- 
land, likening it to “ a clart o’ cauld par- 
ritch,” and adding, “ but far waur ; for 
Thou kennest, Lord, we canna gie’t to 


38 


Memories of the Manse. 


the cat, or thraw’t oot to the cocks an’ 
hens.” His own household of faith was 
as unceremoniously dealt with. A dis- 
pute, in which two church members flatly 
contradicted each other, having come be- 
fore the session, Mr. McTavish prayed : 
“Gie unto Thy kirk-session the speerit o’ 
wisdom an’ knowledge, that it may discern 
whether Johnnie Cooper or auld Tammas 
has tell’t that sinfu’ lee.” Tradition said 
that Mrs. McTavish had been pretty and 
possessed of aspirations after fashion, and 
that she had been publicly admonished in 
the matter of a Leghorn bonnet, which, 
after incredible pinching and saving, she 
had managed to achieve ; and many in 
the congregation could remember how the 
minister had paused in the middle of his 
sermon to reprove the giggling of his 
daughters. Whatever might have been 
in the past, the Misses McTavish of Mr. 
Douglas’s day bore no traces of the 
pretty, vain mother ; and it was certainly 


The “ Sabbath .’ 


39 


hard to associate deaf Miss Elizabeth or 
cynical Miss Grizzell with any thought of 

giggling- 

The sisters had for many years kept a 
small shop in the High Street of Glenar- 
ran, where might be had, if the sign spoke 
truth, “ tea, sugar, tobacco, and snuff ; ” 
also a small stock of sweetmeats, which, 
however they differed in form, were one 
in flavor — peppermint. It was MissGriz- 
zell’s custom to bring a small paper of 
lozenges to the Manse on Sunday morn- 
ing. One or two were given to such chil- 
dren as appeared to deserve them, but the 
bulk was handed to Mrs. Douglas for the 
minister. Miss Grizzell was shrewd and 
not at all credulous, and prided herself on 
being a terror to evil-doers as well as — in 
the matter of the peppermint drops — a 
praise to such as did well : and her close 
questioning was particularly dreaded by 
the occasional invalids of the Manse. 

Strange to say, indisposition was more 


40 


Memories of the Manse . 


frequent in the Manse on Sunday than 
on any other day. Whatever Mr. Doug- 
las may have thought of this, he had but 
one rule of action. If the child was too 
ill to go to church, he was too ill to eat, 
and must have medicine forthwith ; if, on 
the other hand, he was well enough at 
breakfast hour, no sudden visitation was 
allowed to interfere with his church-going. 
It was wonderful to see how heroically 
even Don the scape-grace bore the test : 
asking a blessing, according to manse 
usage, over his rhubarb powder ; sitting 
in a corner, his face expressive of mingled 
agony and endurance, his hand clenched 
on head or stomach as the case might be; 
turning from the offer of coffee and roll 
with a gesture of intense loathing ; and 
now and then, when the family seemed 
growing oblivious of his suffering, utter- 
ing a deep groan. But little did Miss 
Grizzell believe in such symptoms. “Ay ! ” 
she would say, in answer to Mrs. Doug- 


The “ Sabbat h. 


4i 


las’s explanation, “ it’s naething i’ the 
warl but Sunday-seekness. I mind weel 
when Dawvit used to hae’t bad.” Then to 
the invalid, with an emphatic nod : “ Ye’ll 
get nae sweeties the day, my man ! ” 

David McTavish, or Dawvit, as his sis- 
ters called him, was that most unfortu- 
nate of beings — a “ stickit minister.” 
Never very strong, either mentally or 
morally, he had after his disappointment 
become intemperate, and was now a bur- 
den on his sisters and a constant care to 
them. Poor David had inherited his 
mother’s delicate beauty, and, notwith- 
standing his bleared eyes and hopeless 
expression, had traces of it still. He 
had also a sweet, mellow voice, and 
could sing divinely. 

Though Miss Elizabeth was almost 
stone-deaf, the thought of staying at 
home on Sunday never entered her mind. 
By the time Miss Grizzell got into 
church, Miss Elizabeth was already there ; 


42 


Memories of the Manse . 


David, also, if he happened to be sober, 
— but that was seldom. There was a 
world of pathos in the way Miss Grizzell 
would say to Mrs. Douglas : “ Dawvit’s 
bad again.” They sat in a front pew of 
the gallery — the very same to which, so 
long, long before, they had been brought 
almost babies, by their fair young mother. 
Grim and ungainly as they looked, I 
doubt not there were spots of tenderness, 
perhaps even of romance, in their hearts. 
I wonder what they thought as they sat 
there and recalled the multitude whom 
the church had lost and the churchyard 
gained. New forms do not jar on us in 
new scenes ; but to sit in the old familiar 
places, yet miss the old familiar faces, — 
that is to know what change means. And 
we never realize our own insignificance 
more painfully than when we learn for 
the first time how much more enduring 
are the works of our own hands than we, 
their makers. What can we do in such 


The “ Sabbath .’ 


43 


an hour but turn from the contemplation 
of change and decay, and repose ourselves 
upon the Unchanging, the Everlasting! 

At a stated hour, George Campbell, 
the minister’s man, appeared in the 
Manse kitchen for the Bible, or, as he 
simply called it, “ The Book ; ” and 
shortly afterwards the family set forth. 
The minister, clean shaven the night be- 
fore, and now arrayed in the blackest of 
clothes and the whitest of neckcloths, 
was a grave and reverend sight to behold. 
On his arm leaned Mrs. Douglas, and 
after them came the children, with no lit- 
tle pride, feeling that they were forming 
part of a very grand procession indeed. 

Sometimes there was drawn up at the 
church gate a handsome carriage, with 
coachman and footman in gorgeous array ; 
for Lady Georgiana Clyde, though Eng- 
lish by birth and a member of the Angli- 
can Church, often honored the minister’s 
pew with her presence, — Kenneth and 


44 


Memories of the Manse. 


Don, to make room for her, occupying 
places in the pew of the ambitious grocer. 
Lady Georgiana, all rustling silks and 
waving plumes of lovely silver-gray and 
lavender, was tall and majestic ; but, be- 
ing somewhat asthmatic, had a habit of 
puffing out her cheeks and breathing 
audibly, that would have given any 
stranger in the church the impression she 
had walked there. When the children 
held their private services, Lady Georgi- 
ana was always one of their dramatis per - 
sonce y and the action of her cheeks was as 
faithfully rendered as the minister’s halt. 

Lady Georgiana was the daughter of 
an English Earl, but in the eyes of her 
tenantry derived her greatness mainly 
from being the wife of Sir Archibald — 
the largest landowner in several shires, 
representative of his county in Parlia- 
ment, and a writer of no little note on 
certain political questions of his day. In 
Mr. Douglas’s church might generally be 


The “ Sabbath 


45 


found representatives of one or two other 
county families of less note ; but the 
congregation generally belonged to the 
humbler classes. In the table-seats were 
numbers of country people, many of 
whom walked miles across the heather 
to reach Glenarran ; old women in hood- 
ed cloaks and close-fitting caps or mutches, 
and old men in coats with numerous capes 
and woolen night-caps of divers colors. 
The young Douglases used to tell with 
gusto how a little cousin from Edin- 
burgh, seeing these old people for the 
first time in church, had asked audi- 
bly, “ Are they men-ghosts and women- 
ghosts?” Many of them understood 
Gaelic far better than English, and there 
were occasional services in Gaelic for 
them. 

The perfect hush that pervades a Scot- 
tish congregation before service begins — 
the grave, expectant expression on every 
f ace — the reverend voice of the minister 


46 


Memories of the Manse. 


as he says, “ Let us begin the public 
worship of God by singing to his praise/' 
— have been often remarked by strangers. 
It is a spiritual putting off their shoes 
from off their feet, knowing that the 
place where they stand is holy ground ; 
it is the manifestation of the universal 
feeling: “This is none other but the 
house of God. and this is the gate of 
heaven." 

Arbitrary as he was, Mr. Douglas could 
now and then yield his own preferences 
in favor of established usage. It was 
thus in the matter of the singing. He 
would have liked, years before, to do 
away with the habit of lining the psalms, 
which in his opinion took up valuable 
time only to encourage laziness. But 
the old people in the table-seats, though 
they brought their Bibles with them, and 
followed in them not only the text but 
every passage to which the minister might 
refer, never dreamed of finding the psalms 


The “ Sabbath .” 


47 


for themselves, but depended solely on 
Alan MacDonald reading each line be- 
fore he sang it. On one or two occasions 
when this had been omitted, several of 
them had actually risen and left the 
church. To reason with them would 
have been in vain. Lining was to them 
a regular part of the service, and singing 
without that preliminary was to be classed 
with reading sermons, kneeling at prayer, 
and other abominations of their arch ene- 
mies — popery and prelacy. So that the 
minister, very wisely, never raised the 
question. As Alan had a tune for read- 
ing as well as for singing — a sort of iam- 
bic drawl with a minor wail at the end, 
the psalms occupied no little time. 

At prayer, standing was, of course, the 
custom ; but not as standing is under- 
stood now. When the minister said, 
“ Let us pray ! ” half the congregation 
did not sit still, and, putting their faces 
in their hands and their hands on the 


48 


Memories of the Manse. 


pew in front of them, take a position less 
adapted for devotion than for going to 
sleep. Every man, woman and child in 
the church rose ; the very little children 
being placed on the pew-seats, with an 
injunction to shut their eyes, and one 
very old man being drawn up to a stand- 
ing position by his wife, where he wor- 
shiped, like Jacob, leaning upon the top 
of his staff. The prayers of Mr. Douglas 
were full of rugged eloquence and abound- 
ed in apt and forcible figures. The great- 
ness and holiness of God, the insignifi- 
cance and sinfulness of man, were set 
forth in strong contrast ; for Mr. Douglas 
believed that only when the heart was 
fainting under the terrors of Sinai was it 
ready to be laid at the foot of Calvary. 
He was the guide, letting you feel your- 
self lost on the moor before he brought 
you safe home ; the pilot, taking you in 
your frail bark out of sight of land before 
he guided you into the goodly haven 


The “ Sabbath 


49 


where you would be ; the parent-bird, 
keeping you from building on any tree of 
earth, that you might “ soar upward with 
him to the sure and immutable refuge in 
the cleft of the Rock.” 


4 


CHAPTER IV. 


the “sabbath” ( continued , ’) 

As far as attention was concerned, Mr. 
Douglas’s congregation was entirely satis- 
factory. When the minister announced 
the text, every one found it and followed 
the reading. Throughout the sermon a 
passage was never quoted or referred to 
without book, chapter and verse being 
named by the minister and instantly 
found by the people. In the pause that 
followed the reading of the text, a good 
many persons prepared to take notes — 
even the little girls in the Manse pew 
producing and dividing half a sheet of 
paper. Doubtless there were sleepy ones 
and careless ones, perhaps even scoffing 
ones, in church ; but, whatever they felt, 
there were few who did not manage to 
appear attentive, 


The “ Sabbath .” 


5i 


The manner of Mr. Douglas was ex- 
ceedingly animated, still solemn, but 
without a shadow of timidity. To the 
trusting hearts that beat beneath the an- 
tiquated coats and cloaks, he was the 
Great-Heart about to confront Apollyon 
on their behalf ; and their own piteous 
plight was expressed occasionally by a 
sigh or a moan, though they felt very 
sure that in the end Great-Heart would 
have the best of it. 

The simple faith of Cowper’s cottager 
who “ just knew, and knew no more, her 
Bible true,” had probably more than one 
parallel in Mr. Douglas’s congregation, 
but was by no means the prevailing type. 
The Scottish mind, even when unedu- 
cated, is largely metaphysical. The shoe- 
maker will stop in the act of drawing 
out his thread to have an argument on 
predestination, and the joiner, as he 
planes off a coffin-lid, discusses the 
doctrine of the resurrection, With such 


52 


Memories of the Manse. 


natures Mr. Douglas could never have 
held his own had he not from time to 
time set forth every argument that 
could be brought either against Calvinism 
in general or his own particular form of 
Calvinism, and then triumphantly con- 
futed it. The minister, in the eyes of 
his people was “ jist graun ” at fighting, 
and able to vanquish anything in the 
shape of an enemy, from Beelzebub to 
the Kirk of Scotland or the seceders who 
had refused to enter the Free Church 
with them. 

But when 1 say his sermons were 
largely doctrinal, I mean the word in a 
larger sense ; and let the reader beware 
of falling into a common mistake, and 
confounding what is doctrinal and what 
is dry. Tell me what constitutes sub- 
limity ; and then say if a doctrinal ser- 
mon, far from being a dry one, should not 
above all others be sublime. In the 
character of God there is the vast, the 


The “ Sabbath .’ 


53 


terrible, the solemn, the obscure ; in man, 
the pathos of his lost condition ; in the 
Redeemer, the immensity of a sacrifice 
such as it would never have entered into the 
heart of man to conceive. Into whatever 
schools of theology Mr. Douglas might 
guide his hearers the passionate com- 
mand was flashed from his soul to theirs : 
“ Repent, believe and live.” 

The minister’s native eloquence gained 
something from the scenes in which he 
lived — Nature assisting Revelation in its 
teaching, and every natural object gain- 
ing some spiritual association. “ As the 
mountains are round about Jerusalem, so 
the Lord is round about his people from 
henceforth even forever,” did the 
minister say ? — the eager eyes were lifted 
up, with a sweet sense of security, to their 
own blue hills. “ Deep calleth unto 
deep a pause — and the waves were 
heard surging hoarsely on the shore. “ I 
am the Good Shepherd : ” there sat the 


54 


Memories of the Manse. 


rough Jbut kindly men from the moors ; 
plaids about them, staff and bonnet in 
hand, their dogs waiting at the church 
door. Or would he show to them the 
Holy City that shall be builded out of 
heaven to God ? — jasper and sapphire 
and chalcedony found no faint reflex in 
the evening sky ; while, as the more 
glowing hues faded away, there floated 
down on land and sea the pale purple 
that was the crowning glory of the 
whole — “the twelfth, an amethyst.” 

Lady Georgiana remained in a sort of 
trance condition during the sermon, but 
roused herself at the last psalm and beat 
time vigorously on the book-board — 
vainly hoping to regulate the singing of 
Bangor or Martyrdom . Service over, 
she greeted kindly the minister’s wife, 
shook hands with the children, and drove 
off as splendidly and breathlessly as she 
had come. 

Between services, if the weather was 



RETURNING FROM WORSHIP 





The “ Sabbath .’ 


55 


fine, a crowd of country-women gathered 
in the outer garden, and, sitting on the 
grass, talked over the sermon and ate 
their barley scone or oat-cake. The 
young Douglases, who lunched quite as 
frugally, generally joined them there ; 
listening to their father’s praises, inquir- 
ing after the various ailments of the 
various people, and replacing with some- 
thing fresh, the withered sprigs that had 
done duty all forenoon — for a bit of 
something sweet-smelling was brought 
almost as religiously as the Bible, the 
pocket-handkerchief, and the halfpenny 
to put in the plate. The minister’s 
bairns were to these old people objects 
of veneration second only to the minister 
and his wife, and by them were petted 
and blessed to their hearts’ content. 

In the inner garden, among the flow- 
ers, there wandered unrebuked a strange, 
startled-looking creature ; gloating over 
the odors and colorings, yet keeping 


56 


Memories of the Manse. 


strict watch on the kitchen door, and 
ready to spring to it on the first glimpse 
of Mrs. Douglas. With her tall, slender 
form, delicate features and glowing 
eyes, “ daft Annie ” would have been 
beautiful, only that she had the wild look 
of one hopelessly insane. Poor Annie 
was the child of sin and shame — her 
father unknown ; her mother a hard, 
cold woman, who seemed to have a posi- 
tive aversion for her, heaping on her 
willing shoulders all the drudgery of their 
wretched home. Wild as she looked, 
Annie had been won to gentleness by the 
kindness of the minister’s wife — the one 
gleam of sunshine in her miserable life. 
Regularly every Sunday morning, a por- 
tion of the Manse breakfast was laid 
aside for her — to be given, between ser- 
vices, by Mrs. Douglas’s own hands. But 
to look on the face of her kind friend, to 
touch her dress, to lay her face caress- 
ingly on the grass where her feet had 


The “ Sabbath .’ 


57 


rested, was more to Annie than even the 
food she needed so sorely. In a poor 
attempt at finery that made her far more 
grotesque than her week-day rags, Annie 
was never missing on Sundays from her 
place in the table-seats exactly opposite 
the minister — though it was on Mrs. 
Douglas her great black eyes were fixed 
with unspeakable love and longing. 
When the children gave her a flower, she 
went off with it, singing, 

“There’s nae balm in Gilead, there’s nae physician 
there ! ” 

The Manse dinner-hour was half-past 
four. This left time on week-days for 
getting home from school, and on Sun- 
days for those changes in dress that fam- 
ily economy demanded. The minister 
repaired at once to the spare bedroom 
and took off the jet-black clothes. Mr. 
Douglas’s best suit was one of the Lares 
of the Manse — a thing having a close 


58 


Memories of the Manse . 


connection with the Bible, Confession, 
Testimony and Tawes ; and when the 
minister, alike anxious to lighten his 
wife’s cares and to make his children 
useful, had ordained that Bab and Ali- 
son should have charge of it, the little 
girls had felt as proud as though to them 
had been committed the Great Seal. But 
there is an art in folding the long-tailed 
coat of a portly man ; and woe to her 
who could not fold Mr. Douglas’s with- 
out creasing ! Bab the beautiful failed 
utterly. By the time she had the tails 
in order, nothing could be done with 
the sleeves; or if by rare luck she 
achieved the sleeves, the tails did not 
stay where she had put them, but flew 
wildly about the bed. So that, when 
plain little Alison s deft fingers were 
called in, they generally had to com- 
mence operations by removing the stains 
of Bab’s bitter tears. 



. 







. 

















AN OPEN AIR SERVICE 





CHAPTER V. 


the “sabbath” — ( continued , .) 

It is needless to say that no one stayed 
at home on account of dinner. Partially 
cooked on Saturday, it was left to sim- 
mer over a slow peat fire all Sunday af- 
ternoon, and was probably just as good 
as though it had received more attention. 
The first course was soup ; the second, 
the beef, mutton, or chicken boiled in 
the soup. Mrs. Douglas alone took tea. 
For himself, the minister, except on rare 
occasions, scorned it ; and for his chil- 
dren — they would not have been allowed 
it, had he been worth his weight in gold. 
As, on Sunday evenings, some slight re- 
fection was substituted for the usual sup- 
per of porridge and milk, everybody took 
the precaution to eat an unusually hearty 
dinner. What was left of the soup, after 


6o 


Memories of the Manse. 


Jean had reserved her share, was taken 
by the children to an aged cripple. The 
bones were equitably divided between the 
cat and dog. And so, the most frugal 
will admit, there was no waste. 

How the minister came to be guilty of 
the extravagance of keeping a dog, must 
be explained. One day, when Donald 
was, as Jean expressed it, a “bit toddlin’ 
wee thing,” Jean, who had him in charge, 
was hastily summoned to the door by her 
brother. She left the child on a rug, 
playing quietly ; but, on returning, found 
to her horror that he had raised himself 
to his feet, scrambled across the room, 
and was then in the very act of falling 
into the bright fire burning on the hearth. 
Almost before Jean had time to give the 
scream that brought not only the family, 
but the entire neighborhood, to the spot, 
her brother’s dog had darted in, seized 
Don by the dress, and dragged him forth 
only slightly scorched. After that, 


The “ Sabbath 


61 


Brownie absolutely refused to leave the 
Manse, and Mrs. Douglas was not satis- 
fied till her husband consented to keep 
him. Christian considered him a ple- 
beian-looking animal ; and even Bab and 
Alison lamented that he was not a noble 
Newfoundland or St. Bernard, or a 
graceful spaniel, or something to which 
they could have given a romantic and 
high-sounding name ; but Don, loyal to 
his preserver, declared that he liked 
Brownie best just as he was. What he 
was, was a large, gaunt cur, of a yellow 
color and no particular breed, as great a 
scapegrace as his master, but with a look 
in his eye that was perfectly irresistible. 
Brownie was a born diplomatist. It 
sometimes happened that the milk that 
fell to the lot of the cat and dog was not 
just as sweet as it might have been, and 
then it was left untouched. When Mr. 
Douglas, anxious to have one rule of 
obedience for the entire household, or- 


62 


Memories of the Manse. 


dered the pair back to their uneaten 
porridge, the stupid cat only looked 
sublimely indifferent and stretched her- 
self out for a nap or yawned in the 
minister’s face. Not so Brownie. With 
a respectful air he walked across the 
room and dutifully ate the unsavory 
mess, turning up the whites of his eyes 
at the children, however, in a way that 
would have brought upon him an instan- 
taneous flogging had the minister seen 
it. But Brownie’s cleverness lay in the 
fact that the minister never did see it. 
When Don was in disgrace, Brownie was 
at his side, wearing while under Mr. 
Douglas’s eye a look of mingled sorrow 
and reproof ; but the moment he was left 
alone with Don, casting on him one of 
his wicked glances. The Ettrick shep- 
herd tells of a dog that sometimes went 
to church in his master’s place and be- 
haved so decorously that the good minis- 
ter never knew the difference. Brownie 


The “ Sabbath .” 


63 


could have eclipsed that dog : for at the 
very moment his devout air was winning 
the minister’s heart, his asides would have 
had half the congregation in convulsions. 
Jean was Brownie’s sworn foe — perhaps 
because his great exploit could never be 
mentioned without recalling what might 
be considered her neglect. She professed 
to think him uncanny, and to be afraid 
to stay in a room alone with him ; 
“ Broonie by name, an’ Broonie by na- 
tur ! ” 

Apropos of Jean, we must mention 
that that ancient handmaiden’s behavior 
on Sundays was a standing offense to 
Mr. Douglas. There is no disguising the 
fact : Jean was an exasperating Christian. 
Sunday was to her no feast-day, but a 
time for sackcloth and ashes. On week 
days who so spirited and lively as Jean ? 
On Sundays who so doleful and lachry- 
mose ? For a time, Mr. Douglas had 
tried to remove her depression ; but, find- 


64 


Memories of the Manse. 


ing it arose from a morbid desire of hav- 
ing her spiritual state watched and re- 
marked upon, concluded that his wisest 
plan would be to let her alone. Jean, dis- 
appointed at the minister’s course, went 
to an old elder for advice. “ Hoo sail I 
ken,” queried she, “ that I’m ane o’ the 
elec’?” “Hoo, indeed!” replied the 
elder ; “ judgin’ by a’ ye say o’ yersel’, 1 
wad be inclined to think that ye’re no .” 
Jean flounced home, indignant, and there- 
after suffered in silence, taking due care, 
however, to keep out of the minister’s 
sight. Every Sunday she brought forth 
from the depths of a huge chest a care- 
fully-preserved copy of the “ Night 
Thoughts ; ” brooding, during her spare 
minutes, over those pages that describe 
the death-bed of the profligate, and shed- 
ding over them floods of tears. As the 
passage had no bearing whatever over 
anything connected with her own history, 
the reason why she had wept over it 


The “ Sabbath 


65 


weekly for more than twenty years will 
probably never be explained. 

At seven o’clock the family assembled 
upstairs, in the parlor — a room whose 
north window, looking out upon the glo- 
rious panorama of shore and sea and hills 
and far-off islands, was the pride of the 
Manse and the envy of Glenarran. In 
the parlor was a well-used but well-pre- 
served piano, placed so near the door 
opening into the study that the minister 
could readily detect the amount and 
quality of the practicing performed. 
There, too, were various specimens of 
Christian’s fancy-work, that had at one 
time been the cause of much ill feeling 
between the boys and their sister, and 
might have continued so had not Mr. 
Douglas settled the matter with his usual 
promptness. “If the boys abuse the 
work,” said he, “ I will take the tawes to 
them ; but if complaints are made only 
because they use it, I will assuredly put 
5 


66 


Memories of the Manse . 


the nonsense in the fire.” So Christian 
dared say no more ; but what that ambi- 
tious young person suffered in silence 
while Kenneth’s large red hand wandered 
unchecked over the tidies, and Don’s 
curls buried themselves in the silks of the 
patchwork cushion, none but kindred 
spirits can dream. 

The children went at the Catechism in 
a way that would surprise you. “What 
is the Chief End of Man ? ” Mr. Douglas 
asked Alek, the young collegian ; and 
Alek, answering, questioned Christian ; 
and Christian, Kenneth ; and Kenneth, 
Don. And although the questions soon 
came to an end among the younger ones, 
the answers did not — even Bab getting 
through Effectual Calling unscathed ; 
and little Alison wandering through the 
mazes of What is Required , and What is 
Forbidden , and Reasons Annexed , in a 
manner wonderful to hear. Sometimes, 
alas ! there were breaks in the perform- 


The “ Sabbath." 


67 


ance. Too often had Don been fishing 
at the “ Mermaid’s Tryst ’ when he ought 
to have been learning his Catechism ; 
then, on Sunday evening, instead of bear- 
ing his part with the others, he sat aside, 
meditating ruefully on the morrow’s 
whipping, — Brownie by his side, looking 
shocked and distressed. 

Catechism over, the children read from 
their notes or gave from memory all they 
could remember of the sermon.^ Mr. 
Douglas slowly walking up and down as 
he went over each head and particular : 
explaining to the younger ones the while 
how the heads were the hands, and the 
particulars the fingers, of his sermon ; 
and then, in language that even the 
youngest child could perfectly understand, 
the bearing of the subject on their daily 
lives was shown. To the minister right 
thinking and right feeling were all very 
well, but right doing was the proof of 
these ; and theories were less than noth- 


68 


Memories of the Manse. 


ing to him unless they stood the test of 
practical application and made life more 
active and more earnest. 

Then in that sweet hour that is neither 
night nor day, but something born of all 
that is loveliest in both, the evening 
prayer was offered, the evening psalm was 
sung. An hour afterwards, and Mrs. 
Douglas, going from room to room, had 
given her good-night kiss ; the children 
were asleep ; all was dark in the Manse — 
and silent, save for the ceaseless song of 
the sea. 
































BESIDE THE SKA 




CHAPTER VJ. 


WEEK DAYS. 

Oh, the rapture of the early summer 
morning among the mountains and beside 
the sea ! 

Not that the young Douglases greeted 
with rapture the clarion voice that rang 
through the Manse. Neither nature nor 
grace had made them anything but 
healthy, hungry, sleepy children, apt to be 
a little cross when summoned from the 
pleasant world of dreams to the rude re- 
alities of a hasty toilet and a plunge into 
the cold sea. But when the mist had 
risen slowly from the water and the sun- 
light bathed land and sea in its happy 
glow, and they walked along the beach to 
the caves — their only bathing coaches — 
how the bracing air banished every frown, 
what vigor they found in the sparkling 


7 ° 


Memories of the Manse. 


depths, and how pleasantly boys and girls 
met at the breakfast-table, and what ap- 
petites they brought there. 

“ Now then,” would the minister say 
cheerily, as they rose from their knees 
after worship, “to work, my children!” 
Mr. Douglas fully agreed with Mr. Car- 
lyle as to the divine appointment of labor. 
Work, to him, was health and happiness 
and worship ; a sure cure for all the ills 
of life — above all, for a certain unreason- 
able discontent that even the best of chil- 
dren will sometimes indulge in. “ Ask 
your mother to give you a handkerchief 
to hem,” would be his order if Bab or 
Alison looked a little doleful. If the 
household could not furnish the desired 
article in its unfinished state, a piece of 
rag was sent for ; or, if the minister had 
no time to lose, to take his own handker- 
chief from his pocket, tear the hem off, 
and toss it to the little girls, was but the 
work of an instant. The remedy wrought 


Week Days . 


7 


like a charm ; one handkerchief — par- 
ticularly if it was what Bab disdainfully 
called “a snuffy one” — being sufficient to 
raise the hemmer’s spirits beyond any 
chance of depression for months. What 
hemming was to the girls, the gravel that 
would encroach on the flower-beds and 
the dandelions and nettles that would 
spring up in the grass were to the boys. 

The children might have felt a little re- 
bellious had their taskmaster not been the 
prince of workers himself. By the time 
they were ready for school, their father 
was shut up in his study for the morning, 
or he had gone out on business, or he was 
off for a visitation in the country. When 
Mr. Douglas made his pastoral appoint- 
ments, it became the duty of the parish- 
ioner at whose house the visitation was to 
be held to send a horse for him ; and from 
many years of such rides the minister 
could probably, had time permitted, have 
written an interesting and instructive 


72 


Memories of the Manse. 


work on that animal. In regard to the 
amazing variety of creatures — appearing 
to the uninitiated to differ in everything 
but the name — the word horse compre- 
hends, even Mr. Darwin might have 
learned from him a thing or two. The 
children, on visitation mornings, watched 
the arrival of # the animal with intense in- 
terest, greeting its coming in sight with 
screams of recognition or surprise - as, 
“ Oh, papa ! it’s that little gray pony that 
lets your feet trail;” or, “Oh, mamma! 
it’s that bad black horse that threw Don.” 
It might be stout in build, like a cart- 
horse — which it was; or a living skeleton, 
like Rosinante ; or of an appearance so 
sinister as to draw from Jean the ejacu- 
lation : “ Gude save us l this maun be 
the muckle white beast o’ the Revela- 
tions.” 

At school the boys had a quiet, un- 
eventful time of it. The master was an 
easy-going, indolent man, whose pupils 


Week Days. 


73 


might know as much or as little as they 
pleased ; and it would have pleased Ken- 
neth and Don to know but little, only that 
their father was apt, when they least ex- 
pected it, to “ ask them some questions in 
their accidence,” following farther the ex- 
cellent rule of Sir Hugh Evans : “If you 
forget your kies, your kses and your cods, 
you must be preeches.” 

As for the girls, their progress in 
knowledge was by paths perilous. Glen- 
arran boasted a Ladies Establishment , 
where the young people of several coun- 
ties were sent to have their minds gorged 
at so many guineas per annum ; and the 
strictness of Mr. Douglas faded into in- 
significance before the severities of Miss 
Dangerfield. 

Miss Dangerfield was of a genus that 
does not flourish on this republican soil ; 
so I may briefly describe her — a straight 
figure nearly six feet high, a masculine 
but not ill-looking face, hair parted low 


74 


Memories of the Manse. 


on one side and arranged in bows on the 
other, a many-flounced dress of black 
merino, for which in the afternoon silk 
was substituted, a knitted shawl of black 
and purple, a head-dress to correspond, 
and a fur boa twisted round head and 
neck promiscuously. This costume varied 
slightly, but only slightly, with the ther- 
mometer — being indicative less of the 
weather it had pleased Providence to 
send, than of that it was Miss Danger- 
field’s intention to create. The signal 
corps of the Ladies Establishment had no 
difficulty in making her out. Each addi- 
tional article of attire indicated additional 
peril for them ; and the boa, being inter- 
preted, signified, “ Look out for squalls ! ” 
The drudgery of the Establishment was 
performed by a governess, who presided 
in the schoolroom. The pupils gave it 
as their opinion that Miss Trotter would 
have been very nice, had she dared. 
Miss Dangerfield taught one or two ad- 


Week Days. 


7 5 


vanced classes in her bedroom upstairs, 
but the greater part of her time was 
spent in a very handsome drawing-room, 
where she gave music lessons. Music is 
usually considered the science of har- 
mony ; with Miss Dangerfield it was the 
science of numbers. Con amove and con 
espressione were signs unknown in her 
art ; but one — two — three — -four resound- 
ed in her dread voice through the house, 
was beat with her pencil on the piano, 
was stamped with her foot on the floor 
just over poor Miss Trotters head, and 
was sometimes accentuated on her pupil’s 
fair cheek by the long white hand she 
had at liberty. When she had no more 
music lessons to give, she sailed down- 
stairs in search of fresh victims. Some- 
times she walked up to a bevy of little 
girls, and, speaking with sarcastic polite- 
ness, begged to know what lesson had the 
honor of engaging their attention, and re- 
marked that she would have the pleasure 


;6 


Memories of the Manse . 


of hearing it. The more timid had their 
young souls frozen with terror by the 
mere glance of the cold, steel-blue eyes 
set in the white face, and were undone 
at once ; while, had any one sufficient 
courage to answer, she fared little better. 
The long white hand was swung grace- 
fully in the air once or twice to give it 
impetus, and then the back of it brought 
violently in contact with the cheek that 
perhaps least expected it, with the calm 
remark, “ you have so much assurance, 
my dear ! ” 

These were punishments, so to speak, 
en passant . Graver ones were adminis- 
tered in the bedroom upstairs. Like 
most tyrants, Miss Dangerfield had a 
victim-in-chief. Fanny Patterson was a 
young lady of tallowy complexion and 
generally dejected appearance, the latter 
being sufficiently accounted for by the 
fact that she had a stepmother who was 
said to treat her cruelly, and a father to 


Week Days . 


77 


whom any complaint would have been 
unavailing Fanny, notwithstanding her 
melancholy air, was popular with her 
young friends in a certain way — that is, 
they liked to gather around her, and 
listen to the domestic experiences which 
she was nothing loath to relate. The 
most enjoyable part of their morning was 
when, their own lessons being over and 
Miss Trotter engaged with a large class, 
they were left free to hear the whispered 
details of Fanny’s last whipping, getting 
their corner the while well impregnated 
with the odor of the peppermint lozenges 
in which Fanny largely indulged. Too 
often the ominous figure appeared at the 
schoolroom door, and a hasty disposal 
had to be made of the sweets. Bab and 
Alison, gracefully using their handker- 
chiefs, conveyed the lozenges away in 
their folds ; and the luckless Fanny, 
totally unskilled in legerdemain, bolted 
hers entire. However the interview with 


78 


Memories of the Manse. 


Miss Dangerfield might open, it was 
pretty sure to end with, “Miss Fanny, 
you will follow me upstairs, my dear.” 
Notwithstanding the horror expressed 
in Fanny’s backward glance, she seemed, 
on her reappearance, hardly less dejected 
than before. Perhaps to one so accus- 
tomed to whippings one more or less 
made little difference, or it may be that 
her stomach was fortified by the constant 
use of peppermint lozenges. 

Fortunately for the young Douglases, 
the Ladies Establishment was in that part 
of the town most remote from the sea ; 
so that the erect port and peculiar step — 
something between a shuffle and an am- 
ble — practiced while Miss Dangerfield’s 
lynx eye was upon them, might be with 
safety abandoned as they neared home ; 
while it was poor Fanny’s crowning mis- 
fortune that the windows of what Don 
called the Chamber of Horrors command- 
ed a view of the most secret recesses of 
her father’s garden. 


CHAPTER VII. 


week days — ( continued ). 

The gray old Manse, meanwhile, was 
in comparative repose. Sometimes its 
quiet was broken in upon by Sir Archi- 
bald Clyde, who was fond of bringing 
his treatises, while yet in embryo, to be 
talked over with the minister. Sir Archi- 
bald admired Mr. Douglas, and partic- 
ularly liked the hearty laugh that was 
sure to come in just in the right place. 
Now and then the Mackenzies of Old- 
field — penniless dames of long pedigree, 
or the Hendersons of The Elms, or the 
Camerons of the Grange, created a sen- 
sation in the Manse parlor ; more often 
came less stately but better-loved visitors. 
But most often, Mrs. Douglas’s place, 
when her household duties were done, 
was by her husband’s side in the quaint 


8o 


Memories of the Manse. 


old study, — her sewing or darning keep- 
ing time to the music of his rapidly-mov- 
ing quill. 

As for Jean, the gloom of Sunday hav- 
ing been locked away with the “ Night 
Thoughts,” her tongue fairly kept pace 
with her fingers. If she was alone, there 
was store of ballad-lore to be piped out 
in her high key ; if she had the com- 
pany of Davidina, there was the gossip 
of the week to be rehearsed, there were 
Davidina’s dreams to be told and in- 
terpreted, and there were standard nar- 
rations which it was Davidina’s weekly 
duty to demand and Jean’s to recount. 
The episode of the hen-yard was one of 
the last ; and at its conclusion, “ An’ sae, 
as I was tellin’ ye, Dawvit, the minister 
has never wanted for a fresh egg sin’ 
syne,” it was Jean’s invariable habit to 
add, with conscious pride : “ I think Cam- 
eron hissel’ wad hae liked weel to hear o’t.” 

The strength of these damsels was kept 


Week Days. 


81 


up on washing-days by a glass of whiskey, 
sent out regularly at a certain hour. The 
great temperance tide that had swept 
over much of Scotland had not yet reach- 
ed Glenarran. In remote parts of the 
county, an invitation to a funeral was 
more highly esteemed than one to a 
wedding, on account of the superior en- 
tertainment given. “ I hae kenned mony 
a weddin’,” said one feast-hunter, “ that 
sair needed a meeracle to mak the speerits 
haud oot ; but wha’s gaun to mind a drap 
mair or less when they’re jist drooned i’ 
woe ? ” And the reader may have heard 
of a certain woman who, being slighted 
on a funeral occasion at a neighbor’s, stood 
at her door, vainly hoping to be sent for, 
till the very last invited guest had gone 
into the house of mourning; and then, 
turning away, said, with revengeful deter- 
mination : “ Weel ! weel ! I’ll maybe hae 
a corp o’ my ain yet, an’ then we’ll see 

wha’ll be invited.” 

6 


82 


Memories of the Manse . 


In no unseemly haste do the twain in 
the Manse kitchen partake of the spirits. 
To swallow it at all is evidently a painful 
duty, yet a duty that must be discharged 
with a certain ceremony. Jean as hostess 
opens fire : 

“ Tak yer glass, Dawvit.” 

“ Thank ye, Jean.” 

There is no drinking of healths. David- 
ina tastes, shivers, and puts down the 
glass as one who will no more. 

“ Tak it up, Dawvit ! ” 

Davidina takes another mouthful ; her 
face becomes distorted, her appearance in 
general is of one going into strong con- 
vulsions. 

“ Hoot toot, woman ! Tak it up ! For 
shame, Dawvit ! ” 

Davidina protests, Jean adjures. It is 
a work of time. The glass is of course 
finally emptied ; and after the last mouth- 
ful Davidina serenely wipes her mouth 
with the corner of her apron, and her 


Week Days. 


83 


moon-like face resumes its usual stupid 
placidity. 

I have spoken of the simplicity of the 
Manse dinners. On great occasions, how- 
ever, such as birthdays, the children were 
allowed to choose an additional dish. 
And the dish invariably chosen was pan- 
cakes. 

I affirm that there is no greater delicacy 
in the world than a pancake properly 
made. But it requires the nicety of a 
Mrs. Douglas to compound it, the brawny 
arms of a Davidina to beat the eggs, the 
skill of a Jean to toss the delicious morsel. 

“ Dinna ye ever miss, Jean?” would 
the admiring Davidina ask, as she watched 
the last-named operation. “ I’m nae sic 
gomeril ! ” Jean would reply, tossing her 
head as gallantly as the pancake. 

A further birthday pleasure was a song 
from Jean ; but this was never allowed 
when she had companionship in the 
kitchen, lest Davidina, who was ever burn- 


8 4 


Memories of the Manse . 


in g to distinguish herself, might presume 
upon it and wish to sing too. When the 
singing was permitted, Jean stood half- 
way between the dining-room door and 
the table where the pancakes were being 
disposed of, and the child whose birth- 
day it was, was free to choose the song. 
Bab admired the ballad of the man who, 
having a dumb wife, got a doctor to “ cut 
her chattering-string,” but before many 
days became so wearied of the newly- 
evoked gift that he applied to the doctor 
to make her dumb again, — which that 
worthy declared it was beyond his power 
to do. The refrain, “ Dumb ! dumb ! 
dumb ! ” rang out bravely. Little roman- 
tic Alison loved a Jacobite lay, as “ Wae’s 
me for Prince Charlie ! ” while the boys 
affected something martial, and compli- 
mented Jean by affirming that if they did 
not see her they would think it was the 
bagpipes. As for Christian she entirely 
disapproved of the performance, for a 


Week Days. 


*5 


reason young ladies will be quick to 
appreciate. “ Only think, mamma,” she 
said, “ if any one passing should think it 
was / singing ! ” 

In truth, the Manse had many a pleas- 
ure all the year round. In the haunted 
attic no ghost had the heart to show it- 
self when the young masqueraders held 
high revelry, — Brownie, as obliging as 
the immortal Bottom, ready for any part, 
but generally appearing as a respectable 
elderly female in a green cloak and the 
identical kiss-me-if-you-can bonnet that 
was said to have drawn on Mrs. McTavish 
her husband’s ire. Then there were the 
long winter evenings, when, study-hours 
being over, they had a romping game of 
blind-man’s-buff, or a quieter game of 
draughts — sometimes with the minister ; 
or sat round the dining-room fire, telling 
stories or singing sweet old songs. 

There was Hallow e’en, when they 
“ ducked ” for apples and burned nuts ; 


86 


Memories of the Manse . 


and now and then came an evening when, 
the minister and his wife having gone to 
dine at the castle or some equally un- 
wonted place, they were free to gather 
round the kitchen hearth and hear from 
Jean wild tales of Covenanting times, or 
ghost stories — made more impressive by 
their narrator pausing from time to time 
to remove a “ coffin ” or a “ shroud ” from 
the dismal tallow candle, which she 
seemed to keep burning for that express 
purpose. 

But what were all the pleasures of the 
house to the rambles among the hills or 
on the moors? There was not a spot for 
miles around that the young Douglases 
did not know : banks where wild thyme 
grew, favorite haunts of graceful blue- 
bells, knolls where early primroses grew 
thickest, dells where violets lingered last. 
Every summer there was a whole day at 
Raeburn Head, when they lunched at the 
shepherd's cottage — eating curds and 


























' 









THE HI EES IN SUMMER 







Week Days. 


87 


cream with horn spoons, or rambled 
about among the heather in search of 
eggs, or threw stones over the cliffs to 
make the startled sea-birds rise screaming. 

And the sea, the wonderful sea, in what 
varied language did it speak to them ! 
Sometimes after a wild night, in which 
the surf could be heard beating against 
the garden wall, the sun shone out bright 
and clear ; and the children, careless of 
the biting air, rushed to the beach to see 
the rainbow-hued hills of foam and the 
masses of jelly-fish the storm had brought 
ashore ; or to run out after the snow- 
crested, sparkling green waves, and then, 
just as they were curling, ready to fall 
again, to fly before them, often not escap- 
ing dry-shod. Not seldom some goodly 
ship came ashore in the night ; and the 
population of the Fisher Biggins — men, 
women and children — flocked out, nom- 
inally to rescue, but really to appropriate 
the goods the gods had provided. Once 


88 


Memories of the Manse. 


a real, live whale came in among the 
rocks and was left there by the tide, and 
all Glenarran rode or walked miles to see. 
To be sure it was not a very large one, 
and its head — which is, I believe, the 
most interesting portion of a whale — re- 
mained obstinately under water. But 
then it was something to have seen a 
living whale — rather, one that had so 
lately been living ; for even while the 
family from the Manse gazed, the people, 
always anxious to utilize the “ mercies,” 
were broiling slices of it on the beach, to 
see if it could not possibly be eaten. 

“ Wad ye try it, sir ? ” said an old fisher- 
man to the minister. 

“No, I thank you, John. How do 
you like it yourself ? ” 

“ Weel, sir, I’ll no deny that I hae ta’en 
a scunner at it. I’m feared it canna be 
eaten ; but I’m wae to see sae muckle 
meat ganging to waste.” 

“But oh! John,” broke in Alison, 




% 



% 





THE HILLS IN WINTER 











„ , 



Week Days. 


89 


“ what if it should be the very whale that 
swallowed Jonah?” 

“ It wad eat nae waur for that,” said 
John. “ But bless the lassie ! Wha wad 
hae thocht o’ sic a thing but ane o’ the 
minister’s bairns ? ” 

But, after all, the children loved the 
sea best in the summer evenings. Long 
after the sun went down, they would build 
stone castles on the beach and let the in- 
coming tide surround them. Or they 
would walk up and down on the sand, 
watching sky and water slowly darkening, 
and the deep right royal purple of the 
hills growing indistinct, and the nets of 
the fishermen gently rising and falling far 
off on the silver-gray sea. 

You will see that the children of the 
Manse owed but a small part of their 
education to Miss Dangerfield and the 
parish schoolmaster. Dear old Mother 
Nature is a grand instructor, and teaches 
Vinerringly all but those who will be fools ; 


9 o 


Memories of the Manse. 


and her very best lesson is just the same 
as that you learned at the knee of the 
mother who bore you. I have sometimes 
thought that I would like to take one of 
the popular productions of to-day — an 
evolution philosopher — and let him feel 
the vigorous argument, the keen wit, the 
reverent faith, the fine scorn of the min- 
ister I used to know. But I believe 
I could do more for him, might I but 
lead him far away among the moun- 
tains, and let him find himself face to 
face with God. Then, from the con- 
sciousness of his own utter insignifi- 
cance, might be evolved a theory— not 
so new as his, but one that would make 
him a higher and happier and holier 
creature : 

“ O my God ! of old hast thou laid the 
foundations of the earth, and the heavens 
are the work of thy hand. They shall 
perish, but Thou shalt endure ; yea, all 
of them shall wax old like a garment ; 


Week Days. 


9i 


as a vesture shalt Thou change them, 
and they shall be changed ; but Thou 
art the same, and thy years shall have 
no end.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

“THE SACRAMENT.” 

At the time of which we are writing, 
“ The Sacrament,” as it is simply termed 
in Scotland, was celebrated in each of the 
churches in Glenarran but once a year. 
From time immemorial the ministers of 
that place had, on such occasions, been 
assisted by brethren from their own sec- 
tion of the country. Great, then, was 
the excitement in town when it was 
announced that the great Dr. Drummond 
of Edinburgh would, on the next sacra- 
mental occasion, be the guest of Mr. 
Douglas. 

As the time drew near, great was the 
bustle in the Manse. First of all, Bab 
and Alison were dispatched for Davi- 
dina. That retainer was discovered at 
breakfast, consisting of tea, with oat- 


The Sacrament . 


93 


cake and butter, an enviable meal, the 
children thought, comparing it with their 
own breakfast of porridge and milk. 
Davidina received the messengers with 
loud welcome ; and first ascertaining that 
Christian was not likely to appear, select- 
ed two pieces of crisp oat-cake, buttered 
them roughly with a knife, and gave them 
a finer finish with her thumb. This 
tempting refreshment being proffered to 
the children, Bab accepted graciously, 
Alison declined. 

Davidina’s feelings were hurt. “ Why ! ” 
said Bab, opening wide her pretty eyes, 
“you love oat-cake and butter ! ” 

“ But I do not like it spread with 
Davidina s thumb,” objected Alison. 

Davidina tossed her head. “ Sic pride ! ” 
said she. 

Bab evidently sympathized with Da- 
vidina, and ate her portion with increased 
relish. Whereupon the retainer took her 
on her lap and blessed her for an angel 


94 


Memories of the Manse. 


bairn, and praised her eyes and hair, and 
heard her say, “ The Lord’s my shep- 
herd,” wiping her eyes with her apron 
when she had finished. And poor little 
plain Alison stood by, feeling that she 
had been very guilty, yet not able for the 
life of her to see how it was any kindness 
to eat cake spread with the fingers when 
a knife lay on the table. 

“ If you had no knife,” she attempted 
to explain. But Davidina waved her 
hand as one who eschewed further dis- 
cussion. 

Davidina came to the Manse, and the 
house was thoroughly cleaned, a bed put 
up in the study and a “ shake down ” in- 
troduced into the attic for the boys, so 
that their room might be left vacant. 
From the wine merchant’s arrived small 
supplies of port and sherry, and more 
liberal quantities of brandy and whiskey ; 
and from the druggist’s a large bottle of 
bitters, — for the good ministers were by 


The Sacrament. 


95 


no means teetotalers. These were pur- 
chases, of course ; but there were sundry 
presents also. Country women crowded 
in with a small cheese, a few eggs, or a 
piece of pork ; while the fisher people 
promised a dish of fresh herring, a fine 
cod, and one generous heart brought a 
salmon. Arrangements were made for a 
daily supply of fresh rolls and cream ; 
an immense beef-steak pie was made, 
whose crust was a marvel to behold ; and 
Mrs. Douglas’s famous recipe for bread 
pudding, with fruit, was brought out and 
conned carefully. 

Laugh at this homely fare, if you will, 
dear reader For me, I only sigh for the 
hearty appetite and perfect digestion that 
made it all so good. 

Well, there came to the Manse Mr. 
Thompson and Mr. McGregor, from the 
adjacent islands, who were crowded to- 
gether into the study ; Mr. McLean and 
Mr. Craig, from neighboring counties, 


9 6 


Memories of the Manse. 


who found close quarters in the boys’ 
small room ; and the great Dr. Drum- 
mond, of Edinburgh, who luxuriated alone 
in the comparatively spacious best bed- 
room. 

The children were in a state of sub- 
dued excitement. None of them, except 
Alek and Christian, sat at the table with 
these worthies ; but then they partook of 
such dainties as were left. Also they 
knew from experience that Mr. McGregor 
would give each of them a shilling when 
he went away ; and although they had 
too much delicacy to speak of it, there 
was not one who had not already planned 
in his heart what should be done with 
every penny of it. Moreover, was it not 
something just to gaze on the great Dr. 
Drummond, of Edinburgh ? True, they 
had been somewhat disappointed on his 
arrival to find that he had a hooked nose 
and red hair. But when Christian told 
them how he had said, on being asked if 


“ The Sacrament.” 


97 


he would be helped to salmon, not, “ If 
you. please, sir,” or “Thank you, sir,” or 
anything they would have been likely to 
say ; but, “Sir, I will partake of that 
delicacy for which your town is so famous ” 
— when she imitated his sonorous voice 
and piercing glance — they felt that a man 
might be great notwithstanding the ac- 
cidents of nose and hair. That was the 
pet speech at the children’s table for 
many a day. Did Jean ask any one to 
have some more broth or porridge, the 
reply was, “ Madam, I will partake of 
that delicacy for which your town is so 
famous.” So that at last the old servant 
had to complain to her master “o’ the 
bairns” for “ makin’ a fule o’ her,” and 
had the speech prohibited, though the 
piercing glance still fixed her. 

The religious exercises of the occasion 
began on Wednesday night, the regular 
night for the weekly prayer meeting ; 
and as the ministers had not then arrived, 
7 


Memories of the Manse. 


members of the congregation were, as 
usual, called upon to pray, and not always 
with the most satisfactory results. 

“ Donald Mackay,” Mr. Douglas said, 
“ you will engage in prayer ; ” and taking 
no notice of a deprecating groan from 
Donald, stood up and shut his eyes. 

A dead silence till the minister repeat- 
ed the command. Then a deeper groan, 
a muttered declaration of being “no 
worthy,” and finally Donald boldly said : 
“ Auld Jamie McPherson can pray.” 

“Pray yoursel’,” auld Jamie McPher- 
son retorted. 

And so on till the stern voice of Mr. 
Douglas reduced Donald to obedience. 

Thursday was kept as a day of fasting 
and prayer, with sermons morning, after- 
noon and evening. On Friday evening 
there was another prayer meeting, and 
on Saturday regular services in the morn- 
ing. On “ Sacrament Sunday ” the ex- 
ercises began at nine and lasted till five, 


The Sacrament .’ 


99 


without intermission, the ministers slip- 
ping out when they could to take refresh- 
ment. 

In Mr. Douglas’s church, as I have said, 
the tables were stationary, running in 
front of the pulpit, the breadth of the 
church. The “ table seats ” were occupied 
on all other occasions by the aged and 
humble parishioners of both sexes, who 
seemed in their simple hearts to think 
there was some virtue in them. On 
“ Sacrament Sunday ” they remained un- 
occupied, however, till the invitation was 
given to come forward. 

“ We will sing a portion of the 103d 
Psalm,” Mr. Douglas said, “and during 
the singing the communicants will take 
their seats.” 

And then they sang to some quaint tune 
those words so associated with that 
sacred season in every Scottish heart, 
Alan McDonald lining it as they went 


on : 


100 


Memories of the Manse. 


“O thou my soul, bless God the Lord, 

And all that in me is 
Be stirred up, His holy name 
To magnify and bless. 

Bless, O my soul, the Lord thy God, 

And not forgetful be 
Of all His gracious benefits 
He hath bestowed on thee.” 

Oh, the strange sweetness of that Scot- 
tish music, heard in country parishes 
throughout the land ! The unaccustomed 
ear might shrink from unequal time and 
interpolated notes ; but the singers would 
have naught changed. Was it not thus 
that it went up from the glens and hill- 
sides ? Has not every unwritten cadence 
a story of its own ? That minor wail is 
the cry of the persecuted : “ All Thy 
waves and Thy billows have gone over 
me.” Lower still it sinks for the martyred 
dead : “ The bodies of Thy saints have 
they given to be meat for the fowls of 
the air.” The minor sobs itself away. 
There is a burst expressing renewed, un- 


The Sacrament .” 


IOI 


u 


conquerable confidence in God : “ Oh ! 
put thy trust in God, for I shall yet praise 
Him who is the health of my countenance 
and my God.” 

But, meantime, the children were gaz- 
ing expectant, and still the communicants 
did not move. When they had sung five 
or six verses, Mr. Douglas leaned over 
the pulpit and touched Alan McDonalds 
head, as a signal to stop. And here Bab 
and Alison exchange glances, signifying 
that had they been in Alan McDonald’s 
place, and with so bald a head, they would 
certainly have screamed at the critical 
moment. 

Then came a stern rebuke to the com- 
municants, and then more singing. By- 
and-byan old man or woman approached, 
trembling visibly and drawing back from 
time to time. And the seats were not 
filled till the minister had rebuked them 
more than once. 

Was this timidity only a ceremony ? you 


102 


Memories of the Manse. 


may ask. I do not think it was. These 
trembling souls dwelt too much among 
the thunders and lightnings and thick 
clouds of Sinai, and looked not enough 
on Calvary and its Cross. So they sang, 
without understanding them, the words 
of their own beautiful Psalm : 

“ Such pity as a father hath 
Unto his children dear, 

Like pity shows the Lord to such 
As worship Him in fear.” 

At five o’clock the elders dined with 
the ministers, while in the Manse kitchen 
soup was distributed to all who came. 
After that there was another sermon. 
The "religious exercises of the occasion 
were brought to a close on Monday morn- 
ing, and by Monday night the children 
had their shillings, the neighboring min- 
isters wers gone, and Dr. Drummond, of 
Edinburgh, waiting for the weekly packet, 
was left alone in his glory. 

Alas that aught should have occurred 


The Sacrament 


103 


<< 


to mar the pleasure of that great man’s 
visit ! But such is life. On the very last 
day of his stay, Jean was ill, and David- 
ina, whom not even the fear of Mr. Doug- 
las could keep long in the background, in- 
sisted on supplying her place at table. 
Her thousand minor blunders might have 
passed unheeded, but that she should bring 
in the cheese in her hand, and so set it 
before Mr. Douglas on the table, was an 
enormity that, by Christian at least, was 
never either forgotten or forgiven. 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE MINISTER’S ELDEST SON. 

When Alek was but seventeen he was 
sent to the University, with the under- 
standing that for the first year his father, 
out of his small means, would maintain 
him there, but after that he must shift 
for himself. 

Alek was a clever lad, who knew 
thoroughly what he knew at all, and by 
assisting in a school during his spare day- 
hours, and coaching one or two slower 
students at night, he maintained himself 
with credit, and, at the end of his third 
year, returned to Glenarran to astonish 
the natives with a wonderfully clerical 
dress and air, an eye-glass, and a highly 
comfortable opinion of himself. 

His father and mother talked him over. 
Mrs. Douglas thought her eldest son per- 


The Minister s Eldest Son 


105 


feet ; her husband by no means agreed 
with her. 

“ Understand me,” he said, “ Alek is a 
good boy enough. There is an ingenu- 
ousness even about his vanity, and I can 
say for him that I don’t believe he need 
blush to give an account of every hour he 
has spent away from us. But self-conceit 
is a dead fly that would spoil the most 
precious ointment.” 

“ But you won’t be hard on him, 
Donald?” 

“ Hard on him !” laughed the minister. 
“ That would be to make him a self- 
righteous prig. A good laugh at his ex- 
pense will do more for him than twenty 
sermons.” 

In truth, Mr. Douglas did not seem in- 
clined to be hard on Alek. As a stately 
Newfoundland may put up with the antics 
of an insignificant puppy, knowing that 
at any moment matters can be adjusted 
by a tap of his huge paw, the minister 


io 6 


Memories of the Manse . 


bore with the airs of Alek, studying him 
closely the while. 

The youth, meantime, constituting him- 
self the viceroy of his father, became ob- 
noxious to the younger children. On his 
arrival he had proposed that his brothers 
and sisters should improve their vacation 
by taking a Bible lesson with him daily. 
This Mr. Douglas wisely left optional 
with the children. They, highly pleased 
at first, began to rebel as soon as they 
discovered that Alek meant to be quite 
as severe as their father, and a great deal 
more unreasonable. Christian was the 
first to secede, and before a fortnight had 
passed, Kenneth, who was too good to 
quarrel with anybody, was the only one 
left. 

Not satisfied with his unpopularity in 
the house, Alek proceeded to make him- 
self odious to the boys on the street. 
Opposite the church was a row of thatch- 
ed cottages, from which issued daily a 


The Minister s Eldest Son. 


107 


crowd of urchins on mischief intent. Over 
them the Manse children exercised a sort 
of feudal sway, due partly to their position 
and partly to Don’s good right hand. The 
minister’s rule over them was absolute. 
Even Will-gowk, who, notwithstanding 
his name, was no fool, but an arrant 
knave, had been known to leave the dog 
to whose tail he was fastening a tin pail 
with a burning peat in it, and, obeying 
the signal from the window, go sheepishly 
into the Manse and up to the study ; and 
perhaps the minister’s children had never 
been so surprised in all their young lives 
as when they saw the culprit depart with 
a grin on his dirty face and two or three 
sweeties in his dirty hand. 

It never entered into the heads of these 
street Arabs to say to the minister, “ It 
is not your wall I am climbing ; ” or, “ It 
is not your cat I am going to kill.” But 
when Alek took upon himself the office 
of censor, it was an entirely different thing. 


08 


Memories of the Manse. 


When, in imitation of his father, he tapped 
on the window and signed to Will-gowk 
to approach, that worthy laid his finger 
knowingly on the side of his nose and 
looked aggravatingly attentive ; and when, 
to enforce obedience, Alek stepped to the 
door and addressed the gowk as William, 
the latter turned half a dozen somersaults 
in succession to express his intense delight. 

Nor did Will-gowk let the matter end 
with the unearthly shriek that finished off 
the somersaults. Passing the thatched 
cottages, an evening or two after, Alek 
was arrested by a gentle tap on a certain 
window, and, stopping involuntarily, heard 
some one say in low, stern tones, “ Alex- 
ander ! Alexander, my boy, step this 
way ! ” It was the gowk in his usual 
rags, but with the stiffest of pasteboard 
collars, gazing impressively at him through 
a hastily improvised eye-glass. 

Alek would have dashed through the 
window at the gowk, but that a carriage 


The Minister s Eldest Son. 


109 


was approaching. So he strode on, his 
face crimson with rage, his mind busy 
with schemes of revenge on his enemy. 

As he passed down the High street, a 
loud, shrill voice resounded in his ears. 
At first he hardly noticed it, he was so 
absorbed, but gradually it penetrated to 
his preoccupied senses, shaped itself into 
words, and this was what it said : 

“ Saundy ! Saundy Dooglas ! whaur 
got ye thae fine breeks, my man ? ” 

The voice proceeded from the deaf 
Miss McTavish, who stood just within 
her shop door, making a telescope of one 
hand, through which she surveyed Alek, 
while with the other she pulled back her 
cap from her ear, the more readily to 
catch his answer. 

“Eh?” she screamed, as Alek hesi- 
tated. Miss Elizabeth had the usual fail- 
ing of deaf people. She thought every- 
body in the world deaf, and all Glenarran 
might have heard as she again cried : 


no 


Memories of the Manse. 


“ I’m sayin’, Saundy ! whaur got ye thae 
fine breeks ? ” 

Everybody who heard was laughing. 
Not far off were some of Christian’s 
friends, on whom Alek hoped the “ fine 
breeks ” had already made a favorable 
impression. For the moment he just 
went mad. Rushing across the street 
and into the shop where Miss Grizzell 
was weighing out half an ounce of snuff, 
he shook his clinched fist fiercely in Miss 
Elizabeth’s face and shouted, “ You are 
an old fool ! ” 

“ Eh ?” said Miss Elizabeth again, 
looking dazed. Miss Grizzell dropped 
her snuff and turned pale. 

“ He’s gaun gyte, Leezbeth,” she 
said ; “ much learnin’ has made him 
mad ! ” 

But Alek quickly undeceived her. All 
the wrath he had been cherishing in his 
heart against his brothers and sisters, and 
against Will-gowk, fell, in addition to 


The Minister's Eldest Son. 


i 


Miss Elizabeth’s own share, on the two 
faithful friends of his family. 

Something in the faces of the two old 
women made him stop at last. Miss 
Elizabeth was wiping her eyes with her 
apron. Miss Grizzell looked as if she 
had received a blow. 

“ Pit doon yer apron, Leezbeth,” said 
Miss Grizzell, with dignity ; “ he’s no 
worth the greetin’ for. An’ God forgie 
ye, laddie,” she added, turning to Alek, 
“ that ever I should live to say that o’ 
yer faither’s son ! ” 

The unhappy boy left the shop, turned 
rapidly out of the High street and gained 
the beach the nearest way. 

His passion was spent. He was only 
utterly wretched. What had been the 
worth of his college honors ? What the 
use of the self-denial he had practiced 
daily. He almost wished he had never 
returned to Glenarran. What an utter 
failure he had been ! 


1 12 


Memories of the Manse . 


And then self-reproach began to make 
itself felt. He knew Miss Elizabeth’s 
curiosity of old ; it was great, but never 
meant to be unkind. And Miss Grizzell, 
always a welcome and honored guest in 
the Manse — he could not forget her 
look, and something began to rise in his 
throat as he recalled her old affection for 
him ; her simple gifts that had marked 
every birthday in his life ; her pride in all 
his successes. What would they think at 
the Manse of the way he had requited it 
all ? How his father’s brow would darken ! 
And his mother — he believed it would 
break her heart. 

He glanced up at the study window ; 
there was no light in it. And then he 
suddenly remembered that it was prayer- 
meeting night, and that he had been 
wishing that very morning that his father 
would call on him to pray, and planning 
the very words in which his petitions 
should be couched. On prayer-meeting 


The Minister s Eldest Son. 


3 


nights Miss Grizzell always dropped in 
before service began, and so everything 
must be already known at home. But 
no ; it was only that very day that he had 
heard the minister say to his mother, 
“ David McTavish is drinking again.’’ 
So the sisters were at home with the 
skeleton of their house, and he had chosen 
that night of all others to add to their 
misery. 

The tide was out. He climbed up the 
rocks at the Mermaid’s Tryst, and threw 
himself on the bank above. The full 
moon rose from behind the hills and 
lighted up the sea. He knew just how 
it was shining in at the study window, 
making the old books glisten and bright- 
eningthe tarnished gold of the medallions. 

He lay there long, and thought is 
quicker than time. Resolutions that are 
to decide our destiny for time and for 
eternity may be born in a moment, but 

it is a moment in which we live an age. 

8 


Memories of the Manse. 


1 14 


Once his frame shook with sobs. Poor 
boy ! he was only a boy after all, though 
he had thought himself so great a man ; 
and it was a token for good that his boy’s 
heart was coming back to him. 

When he rose, it was to fall on his 
knees, and none of the finished periods 
he had planned for prayer-meeting oc- 
curred to him. Part of his prayer was 
uttered and part unexpressed. It was all 
from the depths of his overburdened 
heart, and was doubtless accepted in 
God’s sight as the evening sacrifice. 

With a lighter heart he recrossed the 
sands, then swiftly narrowing with the in- 
coming tide, and passing the road that 
led to the Manse, went straight to the 
little shop in the High street. 

Miss Grizzell came to the door, night- 
cap on head, candle in hand. On seeing 
who her visitor was, a hard, set look came 
over her face. “Weel,” said she, “hae 
ye come to feenish yer job ? ” 


The Minister s Eldest Son. 


”5 

Alek did not falter. “ I have come to 
beg your pardon, Miss Grizzell.” 

Miss Grizzell’s look hardly changed, 
but she said briefly, “ Come in.” 

They sat down together in the little 
shop, and Alek said what he had to say 
in a way that brought a wistful look into 
Miss Grizzell’s eyes and carried convic- 
tion to her heart. 

“ Leezbeth’s i’ her bed,” she said, when 
he had finished, “ an’ I winna wauk her 
up. She’ll forgive ye fast eneugh the 
morn ; she wasna half sae angert as me.” 

There was silence between them for 
a while, and both hearts grew softer. 
“ Alek,” said Miss Grizzell, at last, “ there 
is a sicht up stair that naebody but yer 
faither and mither, — forbye me an’ Leez- 
beth an’ the auld docter, — has ever seen. 
An’, thinkin’ o’ Dawvit an’ o’ you, my 
hert has been sair this nicht. 

“ Ance on a time,” she continued, 
“ Dawvit was as bonnie a lad as ye wad 


ii 6 


Memories of the Manse. 


want to see, — no a braw scholar, like you 
Alek, but just sae bonnie he won a .’ the 
leddies’ herts ; an’ fine at makin’ sangs an’ 
singin’ them, and playin’ on the fiddle, — 
that my father thocht jist like the abomi- 
nation o’ desolation spoken o’ by Dawnel 
the prophet, — and thrummin’ on that 
ither stringed instrument ye play wi’ the 
fingers. Weel, when this trouble cam 
upon us it was hard to thole. It was jist 
aboot the time yer faither cam here, an’ 
he tried to comfort me, honest man. 
* Canna ye say,’ says he, ‘ Shall I receive 
good at the hand of the Lord, an’ shall I 
not also receive evil?’ ‘If it was the 
Lord,’ says I, ‘but to me it looks mair 
like the deil.’ *' The Lord often works 
by ill instruments,’ says he, ‘ but its nane 
the less the Lord.’ Weel, to mak’ a long 
story short, I think the minister brocht 
me nigher to God, an’, in bringin’ me 
nigher to God, he brocht me nigher to 
hissel’. An’ when ye were born, laddie 


The Minister s Eldest Son. 


ii ; 


my prayer went up that the trouble that 
had come upon us micht never come upon 
them that lo’ed you. There’s never been 
a day in yer life that I haena prayed for 
you ; an’ I think yer ain mither has ne’er 
ta’en mair pride i’ yer weel-doin’. 

“ But I didna bring ye in to preach to 
you, but to pit an idee i’ yer heid. The 
claes are no’ that ill, seein’ yer ain hard- 
earned siller payed for them, though the 
breeks are maybe ower ticht, and the 
coat-tails ower long ; an’, if ye are near- 
sichtit, Alek, a guid pair o’ glasses wad 
be mair use than that cumstairy thing ye 
cock i’ yer ee. But that’s neither here 
nor there. Ye’re to be a minister, an’ 
ye’re gettin’ learnin’, an’ they tell me ye 
hae the gift o’ the gab. Noo, do ye hae 
to wait for the layin’ on o’ hauns afore 
ye begin an’ work for God ? Is’t no’ 
o’ mair accoont what ye do for ither 
fowk’s souls than what ye pit o’ yer ain . 
back ? ” 


1 1 8 


Memories of the Manse . 


“ Would you have me preach, Miss 
Grizzell ?” asked Alek, in surprise. 

“ Do ye mean wad I hae ye git up in 
yer faither’s poopit, to get pulled oot by 
thae lang coat-tails by Geordie Cawmitt ? 
Nae likely! But I’d hae ye gie up 
strivin’ an’ fechtin’ wi’ the bairns an’ 
Will-gowk ; to strive an’ fecht, — an’ no 
i’ yer ain strength, laddie, — wi’ them that 
Satan has led captive at his will ; maist 
o’ a’, wi’ them like puir Dawvit, up the 
stair.” 

“ But my father is not a temperance 
man, Miss Grizzell,” objected Alek. 

“ An’ gin he’s no’ ? nae mair was mine. 
But gin he had lieved to see Dawvit, he 
wad hae beem I’m an auld woman, an’ 
the youngsters laugh at the shape o’ my 
cloak an’ the size o’ my bannet, but the 
progress o’ the soul isna measured by the 
cut o’ the claes. What’s the use o’ Kevin 
later, if ye’re no’ to learn mair ?” 

A strain of music stole softly down 


The Minister s Eldest Son. 


1 19 

stairs. The voice was tremulous but 
sweet, and this was what it sang : 

“ What time my heart is overwhelmed 
And in perplexity, 

Do Thou me lead unto the Rock 
That higher is than I.” 

“ It’s Dawvit,” said Miss Grizzell, in 
answer to Alek’s look of inquiry. “ When- 
ever the fever is on him, he’s aye brakin’ 
oot wi’ some verse frae an auld Psalm. 
Ance I could no bear to hear him. I 
used to feel as if it was blasphemy. But 
yer mither learned me better. ‘ Is’t no’ 
a sign o’ grace,’ says she, ‘ that when his 
mind is wanderin’ he does na stray off to 
the ale-house or what he hears there, but 
gangs back to what he learned i’ the auld 
innocent days, an’ sings a sang o’ Zion ? ’ 
I canna tell ye hoo the thocht has com- 
forted me.” 

Alek rose to go. “Good night, Miss 
Grizzell ; I will not forget all you have 
said.” 


120 


Memories of the Manse. 


•“ God bless ye, laddie,” said Miss 
Grizzell, heartily, as she shook hands 
with him at the shop door ; “ and God 
help us a’ ! ” she added, as she took up 
her candle and went up stairs to keep her 
solitary watch by David’s bed. 


Should the reader wander to the Glen- 
arran of to-day and see the reforms that 
have been wrought there, specially in the 
region of the Fisher Biggins, since the 
days of which I write, he will be sure to 
hear in connection with them the name 
of Alek Douglas. 

The very first lecture delivered by 
Alek in Glenarran was on behalf of the 
Temperance Society, a society he had 
been mainly instrumental in organizing ; 
and the second was on aggressive Chris- 
tian work, and in it he showed, with all 
his father’s vigor joined to his own en- 
thusiasm of youth, that standing in the 
pulpit and calling, “Ho! every man,” is 


The Minister s Eldest Son . 


12 


only a part of Christ’s work ; that the 
only way to win the lost is to seek them 
out in their haunts, not with the superior- 
ity of saint seeking sinner, but with the 
love of brother meeting brother, hand to 
hand and heart to heart. 

Alek’s father was present at both lect- 
ures, and there were many to wonder 
what were the minister’s thoughts. I 
feel sure that they were in substance iden- 
tical with Miss Grizzell’s words, already 
quoted : “ What’s the use o’ lievin’ later, 
if ye’re no’ to learn mair ? ” 








































































































































































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moods. — The Chautauquan. 

A volume which is full of happy and exuberant youth. — Chris- 
tian Register. 

OUT OF THE HEART. Poems for Lovers, Young and Old. Se- 
lected by John White Chadwick and Annie Hathaway Chadwick. 
1 volume, square i6mo, $1.25. 

FROM QUEEN’S GARDENS. Selected poems of Mrs. Browning, 
Jean Ingelow, Adelaide Proctor and others. Edited by Rose 
Porter, i volume, square i6mo, $1.25. 

THE TWO VOICES. Poems of the mountains and the sea. Edited 
by John White Chadwick, i volume, square i6mo, $1.25. 

All in white cloth binding, with fancy paper sides, gilt edges. 


Published by JOSEPH KNIGHT COMPANY 

196 SUMMER STREET, BOSTON. 






























































































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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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